


The Drive Back to Michigan

by FriendlyCybird



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Based on a song, Gen, Grief, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-08 22:57:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10398048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird/pseuds/FriendlyCybird
Summary: Tucker is returning to earth from a mission with his son, he decides to stop and say hello to some familiar faces.





	1. Carolina

**Author's Note:**

  * For [advantagetexas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/advantagetexas/gifts).



It’d been two days, seven hours, and thirty-six minutes since his son disembarked from the return ship, and Tucker wished he knew that for a reason besides he hadn’t reset his timer since it started counting up after the alarm to go watch Junior’s troop go. He was sentimental enough to leave the number on the chronometer, not enough to keep it in his head. Tucker still hated memorization. It made him feel inferior as a dad. He wasn’t, he was just an idiot. The ship docked at a station and Tucker watched the whole process from his bedroom window. The silence in his head was deafening as always. He could hardly hear his own thoughts in the void. It was easier that way. Who likes listening to themselves? 

The announcement came over the loudspeaker “All Passengers Report to their assigned airlocks. All Passengers Report to their assigned airlocks. Disembarking will commence in twenty minutes.” Tucker grabbed his suitcase, a turquoise one that matched his armor, which he was back in for the first time in weeks. He pulled the rolling suitcase behind him as he walked briskly through the halls of the transport ship to airlock B. The ten minute wait in the growing crowd felt more like an hour, the press in the airlock between the close of the internal doors and open of the external forcing him to hold the suitcase close to his knees again, standing uncomfortably until he could move into the busy foot traffic of the station.

A thought rang loud and clear through his head. Check out the babes. Women, not in armor women of various shapes and sizes in civilian clothes. Tucker didn’t know where to start. His head had been through alot in the last year, this was what was gonna make it explode though. He was a soldier with a big mouth, not a real ladies man, so this kind of quantity and...damn...quality, left his mouth dry. Until he spotted her. 

Redhead. Long legs, curves not quite hidden by the cobalt coveralls she wore. Thin, but he recognized a soldier's muscle structure from how she moved. Not like he’d had much luck with soldiers but worse case it’d be a familiar rejection. Best case Hel-lo strength and flexibility. He shifted his path, slightly, she was headed toward the food court. Falling into step at her shoulder, matching stride, he could feel from how she moved she was a badass. The thought that this might have been a mistake echoed through the emptiness in his mind and he dutifully ignored it. The allowance he made was to give her enough space she’d have to telegraph it if she wanted to turn and hit him. “Y’know…” he started without introduction or even a greeting. “I could die happy if I saw you naked. Just once!” He made it, he hoped, just the right amount of wistful. 

Of all the ones he wanted or even didn’t want but expected, an entirely familiar voice growling “Shut the fuck up, Tucker” was really not one of them. 

“Holy Shit! Carolina!” Tuckr attempted to correct. Listen, I didn’t know it was you. I don’t wanna see you naked that bad. I mean. I wouldn’t mind seeing you naked. I just… wouldn’t have said that if I’d known it was you because...you know what? That shutting up thing was good advice I’m gonna get on that.” Sometime while he was babbling, Carolina had stopped walking to stare at him blankly. She did that for a long moment when he fell silent, until he added “It’s good to see you at all, though.” 

She sighed heavily, posture sagging. “It’s good to see you too.” then she glanced around and asked “Join me for dinner?” 

The request took a beat to process, and when it did he brightened. “Oh hell yeah.” then he stopped “Wait. Dinner like, Dinner-Dinner or like. Dinner-Date Dinner?” 

“Dinner-Dinner.” Carolina answered, voice going cold. “Now maybe go back to shutting up before I change my mind.” 

“Stone cold bitch as always. I’m just here for a short layover, you’re cockblocking me here.” 

“You didn’t have to say yes.” she countered “See? You don’t need any help not finding people to have sex with.” 

“Ouch, babe.” Tucker pouted. “Fair, but ouch.” then he paused “Hey I’ve never seen you out of armor before. What gives?” 

Carolina sighed. “Just...taking the day off.” 

Tucker nodded, and they started walking again, slowly now. “Eta being a pain in the ass?” 

“One Day.” Carolina snapped. “One day that he doesn’t whine about how much he misses Iota. This version of him barely met Iota!” 

“Well, hey” Tucker offered “Why don’t you come to earth with me? Visit Wash, let the twins play? I hear he has this massive computer that’s basically a big AI playground. He also has Caboose, and you know how Caboose is with these guys.” 

The unspoken part of that hung between them maybe a bit longer than need be before Carolina shook her head. “Can’t. I have an upcoming mission.” 

“A mission?” Tucker echoed “Who are you working for anymore?” 

“Myself.” she answered. “Common good. Redemption. That kind of thing.” 

Tucker softened. “C’mon...no. You don’t need all that shit, Carolina. You saved a planet. Take a break already! You deserve it.” 

“I don’t expect you to understand…” 

“Fuck that!” Tucker near screeched, drawing glances from the crowd around them. “Listen babe, you’re not the only one who’s done shit that keeps you up at night. You can stop acting like some sort of…” he trailed off, losing the word. He tried again. “You’re our friend. We want to see you sometimes.” 

“Yeah?” Carolina challenged “Well when was the last time you saw any of the others?” 

Tucker went silent for several beats, lengthening his stride to pull ahead of her. She kept pace easily and stayed shoulder to shoulder with him. These halls weren’t built for people to walk two wide but no one was arguing with the man in armor and his girl. Not that, she was his. Goddamnit this is why Tucker didn’t like listening to his own brain. It couldn’t even register spacial reality without sounding dumb. Well, he’d made his bed, or maybe it’d been made for him, but he was still gonna lie in it. He was also gonna clamp down on that shitty internal dialogue about metaphorical beds and their uses. Instead, he ignored the echoing idiocy in his too-empty skull and defended himself. “Yeah but I’m going to see them.” 

“Were you?” Carolina challenged. “All of them?” 

Well, fuck. Now he was. “Yep.” he answered confidently. “They’re all in the US, right? I’m thinkin Road Trip.” 

“Grif’s in Hawaii.”

“Hawaii’s part of the US.” 

“Hawaii is an island.” 

Tucker broke stride and half shouted “So there’s a plane involved in the road trip! The Principle stands!” 

“You’re really on your way to see them?” 

“Why not?” Tucker challenged. “Wash is in Michigan anyway. Start in Hawaii and work my way home.” the idea was only just occurring to him as he said it. He liked it though. Liked it well enough to follow through. 

“Is that why you’re in armor?” Carolina asked, stopping again. Tucker hadn’t even realized they were in the station food court until then. “So they’ll recognize you?” there was a gentle tease to her tone. She was picking on him.

“No.” he defended “I’m in armor because you helped turn me into a paranoid freak. New places mean unknown threats. Unknown threats mean armor. Full. Armor.” Carolina nodded and studded him. He’d seen her look at him like this before, and he’d always assumed she was judging him. She probably was, to be fair. But she just looked so sad about it. “Well.Time to get food. You wanna pick the table and I’ll find you?” 

“I was gonna treat us both to Italian.” Carolina argued, and Tucker was almost completely sure she was full of shit and just trying to be contrary. 

Still. “Well I’m not a guy that’s gonna say no to free pasta.” something felt wrong about it, as he pulled off his helmet to tuck under his arm, he found himself asking “...seriously though. What’s gotten into you? No armor, buying me dinner…” he trailed off, then finished “You’re acting weird.” 

“What happened to you shutting up before I change my mind?” Carolina asked, starting toward the italian stand at the food court. 

Tucker followed, but once in line the answer dawned on him hard. “holy shit” he breathed. “Carolina. Tell me this isn't you saying goodbye.”

“I already said goodbye, but here you are.”

“I mean. How dangerous is this mission?” Tucker pushed. 

Carolina bristled “maybe if you were coming with me that’d be your business.” 

Tucker went silent, studying her. They arrived at the Italian booth, Carolina ordered for both of them. Tucker was surprised she was right about what he wanted. Maybe he’d mentioned his favorite trying to hit on her once. Or they’d just talked about it late one night, or, fuck, maybe she’d found it out from spying on him. However she knew, Tucker got over his stupid paranoia enough to take it for granted. 

They settled in at a table with their food, and Tucker made a simple request. “Don’t die.” Carolina snorted and he added “I mean, if you can help it. I mean. Don’t go running suicide missions. Not without backup.” 

“Backup as in you?” 

“Backup as in all of us!” Tucker snapped “Carolina. The Reds and Blues? Know each other. Like, better than we ever wanted to know each other. Yeah we’re idiots but we’re good at what we do. ...at what we did.” 

“Everyone else is retired, Tucker.” Carolina answered, sounding exhausted. “I’m not going to take that away from them.” 

“Why don’t you retire too then?” the look of instant panic that crossed her expression was unexpected, Tucker understood though. “What are you afraid of?” 

“You’re starting to sound like Eta.” Carolina grumbled. “Missing your friends, asking me about my fears just to make yourself feel better, why haven’t you retired, Tucker? Have you even thought about it?” 

Tucker didn’t hesitate. “Because my son is way too young to be in the military by my standards and I’m going to run as many of his missions with him as his people allow. Now let’s hear your reason.” It was Carolina’s turn to fall silent, so Tucker continued. “I saw what spending your whole life fighting did to those kids on Chorus. If that happens to my kid I...fuck.” 

“You’d feel like a failure.” Carolina supplied knowingly. 

“I’d be a failure.” Tucker argued sullenly. Then “You don’t have a kid. You have an AI.”

“One who blames himself as much as I do for what happened to you, Tucker.” 

Tucker was confused for a moment, but then realized, and clarified “You mean what happened to Church.” Carolina nodded, and Tucker sighed. “He wasn’t even my friend you know. Epsilon. Not really. He was a shell of my friend. A copy. I don’t know why it hurt so much. You know?” 

Carolina nodded. Then changed the subject. “So. You’re going on a road trip?” 

“I guess I am.” Tucker answered. “And there’s no talking you into coming with me?”

“Like I said. Greater Good, all that fun stuff.” 

Tucker nodded. “Just stay alive, and make sure you’re on the right side?” 

“Oh I’m sure.” 

They ate in silence after that. Then they cleaned up and shook hands. They didn’t say anything. Tucker felt the word goodbye stick in his throat. A strange feeling it was a jinx on her safety. He kept it back, but the moment deserved no less so he didn’t try for another platitude. Instead he just turned and headed back to the departure hub to plan his unexpected Road Trip.


	2. Simmons and Sarge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's easy to forget that Sarge is an old man. For everyone but Simmons.

There wasn't a direct trip to Hawaii, but destinations in San Fansisco and Seattle both bosted regular shuttles toHawaii. Which meant visiting Grif would have to wait, since Sarge and Simmons lived in Northern California. Far enough north that it was closer to head to some little nothing tourist trap city in Oregon and drive down. Ashland was some sort of cultural something or whatever. Simmons would probably love it. So after parting ways with Carolina, Tucker found a contact number for Simmons and made the call.

"Sarge here." came the gruff answer.

"Hey Sarge!" Tucker greeted "It's Tucker!" 

The sound of a phone slamming rang in his ear for several moments. Tucker waited several beats, then called again. 

"Hello?" 

"Hi Simmons, it's Tucker." 

"Oh. What do you want?" 

"Now do you have to be like that? Sarge I get, but you?"

"Tucker. I'm stuck inthe middle of nowhere with an old man who thinks he knows how to run a farm, and arobot I'm beginning to suspect actually hates us that knows how to run a farm better than he can speak english. I ran out of patience for additional bullshit months ago."

"That's what I'm calling for." Tucker brightened. "How would you like to get out of there for a while? Go see a play or something." 

The silence was a familiar sort of uncomfortable silence that was far too comfortable in its familiarity. "...Tucker...are you asking me out?"

"What? No! What? Jesus, Simmons. I'm taking a road trip down the west coast from this little nothing place in Oregon that's only has a space shuttle for this theater company or whatever. I thought you might like to drive up and catch a show."

"What are you doing there anyway?" Simmons asked. "Theater doesn't really seem like your...thing." 

"What's that suppose to mean?" Tucker demanded. 

"Just what I said! Theater doesn't seem like your thing! Jesus." 

"I'm taking the grand tour, alright? After I visit you it's off to Hawaii to see Grif then I don't fucking know didn't Donut go back to Iowa?" 

"Indiana." Simmons corrected, sounding offended. "God, why would Donut go back there? He's in the Chicago exsurbs and commuting for work."

"Exurbs?" Tucker echoed. 

"They're like suburbs, but farther away. Suburbs of the Suburbs."  
"That's a thing?" 

"Yes that's a fucking thing, Donut and Doc live there!" 

"Donut lives with Doc?"

"They're married!" 

"I missed Donut's wedding? Seriously?" 

"You WANTED to go to Donut's wedding?" 

Tucker fell silent, and had the strangest sense of shock that Simmons had won a round of banter. After a few beats he asked "So you've been keeping track of everyone?" 

Simmons didn't answer right away, then admitted "...I wasn't actually sure Grif was in Hawaii." 

Tucker was startled "What, Seriously? You and Grif lost touch?" 

"So help me if you say..." 

"Weren't you too like...all but married?" 

Simmons hung up on him. 

Tucker called back. 

"What?!" Simmons Demanded. 

"Look, I didn't mean anything by it. I was just surprised, okay?" 

Simmons sighed, and sounded dispondant. "He's just. Not in any of the support groups. Simulation Trooper, Red Team, he's not registered online anywhere. If he weren't such a fucking cockroach I'd think he was dead." he gave a heavy sigh and "so mostly I just pretend he doesn't exist. It's hard to be nostalgic for the old days when you've cleaned up your former CO's piss." 

"You've had to clean up Sarge's piss?" 

"He forgets a lot. Luckily he can still shower on his own. Even on a bad day." 

"Dude...that's...kinda hilarious. I mean it's pretty awful but you've gotta admit..." 

"No. Tucker. I don't have to admit anything. It's not hilarious, and it's not awful either. It's the daily reality of thousands of soldiers who were victims of project Freelancer. Sarge was in it even longer than most, between his early days in the UNSC and our time on Chorus. Honstly after the bullshit we were put through, it's a miracle we're not all vegetables. Some of us are." 

"What do you mean? Who's a vegetable?" Tucker felt a surge of panic for the people he lived too close to for too long to not consider friends.

"Not us. Other Reds. Probably other Blues. Seriously, Tucker, have you not looked into online resources for veterins at all?"   
"I'm still in the military!" Tucker protested. "This Roadtrip is just me going on leave." he paused, then admitted "Maybe perminantly, but hopefully I'll be allowed to go on missions with Junior still." 

"Oh." Simmons responded. "Well. I can't leave Sarge alone overnight, Tucker."

"What the hell? Is he that bad off?" It was a chilling thing to hear, and Tucker didn't like it at all. "The man can take care of himself, Simmons." 

"On a battlefied? Absoloutly." Simmons agreed. "On a farm? Gamma would probably think it was funny to let him think we were under assault and he'd end up killing the chickens." 

Tucker sighed heavily. "Gamma and Lopez and you still have to babysit. It's not fair. What use are robots anyway?" 

"Honestly? I'm starting to think Lopez hates us." 

\- - - - - 

Northern California was bigger than Tucker thought, and he was driving for hours down from Ashland just on the interstate. Luckily he had the car radio. He tried to keep it off of sappy love songs after the first, finding himself surprisingly vulnerable to their ability to fuck with someone's emotions. That got a bit harder when he hit the back roads and old highways and his radio signal got limited. 

Some dumb country song about standing around talking about nothing for hours with the person you love came on and Tucker switched the radio off altogether. This was why he'd invited Simmons up north. This being alone in the car thing was bullshit. After a few moments Tucker switched the radio back on. That song was over. Tucker didn't want to think about why that made him sad. 

He eventually pulled up at the address 'Simmons had finally given him over the phone. The first even remotely familiar thing about the place was Lopez chopping wood alongside the driveway. 

"We are under attack!" Sarge's voice called from the house. Tucker immidetely fell to a defensive stance, eyes scanning the permiter. "This is not a drill, we are under attack. Blue Insurgents in the yard! Lopez, fall back!" 

Tucker sighed heavily, and pulled off his helemet. "Sarge!" he called. "Sarge it's just me. It's Tucker." 

"Are you Tucker? How am I suppose to know that?" there was a long pause, and then Sarge emerged from the house. He was chuckling to himself. "That Gamma. He got me good. Well look at you! All armored up, what was I suppose to think?" he was still chuckling. "Blue Insurgents. I'll get that AI yet!" 

He offered Tucker his left hand to shake, which was awkward. Tucker complied, taking note of the shotgun in Sarge's right hand. Lopez made a comment in Spanish, which Tucker ignored, and Simmons approached from the house. "Gamma likes to prank us. Whenever we get sick of knock knock jokes he'll try to make us think we're in danger. Sarge falls for it nine times out of ten." 

Another comment from Lopez in Spanish, and Tucker greeted. "Good to see you too, Lopez." he had a feeling from the way Lopez turned away as he replied that hadn't been what was said, but it didn't particularly matter. 

A moment later a green light projected from Simmons' eye piece near the temple out to over his shoulder and took solid form. "Hello, Captian Tucker." Delta greeted. 

"Hey Delta. Hey Simmons." Tucker greeted. 

"C'mon in." Simmons invited. "Dinner's in the oven." 

Dinner turned out to be some kind of macaroni based casorole. Sarge and Simmons had what seemed like practiced banter about how Simmons couldn't cook anything but casoroles. Sarge even joked that "at least the neghibors know what NOT to bring to my funeral. Casorole." and Tucker was instantly on edge.

"Your funeral, Sarge?" 

"Everybody's gotta go sometime." Sarge answered simply. 

"He's been paranoid ever since he found out about the arthritis in his ribs." 

"If you believe that's arthritis..." Sarge started to threaten.

"I saw the CAT Scan!" Simmons argued. "I'm sorry your joints are inflamed, Sarge. I really am." 

"Doesn't that hurt?" Tucker interupted. 

"Every damn day, son." Sarge interupted. "But you push through. I'm not gonna end up...bedridden and alone in one of those homes Simmons keeps trying to put me in." 

"Garden Plaza is a perfectly nice place!" Simmons protested 

"It's a home! It's where old folks go to die well I'm not ready for that yet!" 

Tucker went back to his serving of casrole while the other two continued bickering. It was more than a little like listening to father and son, and reminicent of evesdropping on Grif and Simmons back in the day. After a moment that led him to ask "So the two of you don't keep in touch with Grif at all?" 

Silence. Stone cold silence as they both stared at him. 

Sarge went back to his food, grumbling the usual litney of insults about Grif. Simmons looked...honestly it was hard to read his expressions with his face being half robot and all. Pretty sure Simmons was looking at him pretty damn unhappy. 

After dinner Simmons walked Tucker to the guest room, and said "I'm sorry about that. Sarge is...he's not..." Simmons trailed off, seeming to search for a word.

"It's fine." Tucker answered. "Honestly besides the whole joking about his own funeral thing he's more mellow then I've ever seen him." 

"Yeah that's the painkillers." Simmons answered. "Which, by the way, if you hear shouting, don't worry about it. It's just me getting him to take his pills." 

That was worrying. "What, is he on the good stuff or something?"

"OH yeah." Simmons answered. In the distance they could hear Sarge laughing hard enough to devolve into gags and coughs."Huh, maybe he took them already. He only finds Gamma that funny when he's loopy." 

"He's going to be okay though, right?" Tucker asked, concerned. 

"Please. We both know Sarge is way too stubborn to die." 

"Woah. Hey." Tucker scolded. "That's right up there with 'I'm gonna retire tomorrow' and 'what else can go wrong'. Take it back quick."

"Is it?" something dark flashed in Simmons eyes and Tucker's gut sank hard. It lightened after only the shortest moment of hesitation, then "fine, sorry. Sarge'll be okay. Knock on wood he's got some long years left in him."

"Okay." Tucker answered, reassured. "Goodnight, Simmons." 

"'night, Tucker." Simmons answered, walking away from the door, leaving Tucker wondering when he'd become the kind of sentimental ass that watched his friends walk away from the doorway. Not to mention doing just that before going into his room and closing the door.

He wasn't ready to sleep yet, so he worked out instead. He could honestly kill Washington for turning pushups into something he did willingly ever much less frequently. It also helped with the echoing emptiness between concrete thoughts. Filling it with body movement. There were better ways to fill silence with body but no one like that was available at the moment. 

There was yelling, so Sarge must not have taken his meds after all. Boy that was a weird thought. Grif and Simmons seperated, Sarge on medication and living with Simmons who it seemed like was taking care of him. Like there was some resentment building over it too. Resentment from proximity and responsibility. Sounded familiar. As long as there was still...

Tucker had few enough crystal clear thoughts he didn't need to be silencing any of them. He would still crush the sappy ones mercilessly. Thoughts about resentment underscored by affection. About bickering all day as a way to show you cared. Thoughts about someone who hated you the least. 

He ruthlessly stopped the thoughts, doubling the speed and duration of his workout before stripping off the armor and collapsing hard into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a discord! https://discord.gg/CqhYKxW  
> Come say hi, thank advantagetexas for commissioning if you're enjoying, or even get one for yourself.


End file.
